


Aquamarine

by LadyJaneSlay1554



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Awkward Tension, Dinner Date, F/M, Food, MMA vague backstory, Weird Fluff, Weird Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25704952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaneSlay1554/pseuds/LadyJaneSlay1554
Summary: The Metal Masked Assassin has a rather formal, quality steak dinner with a very uncomfortable Abigail.  Awkwardness and reflection ensue.Many thanks to the lovely and talented HeyMurphy and wumbo_requiem for all of the encouragement and good humor.If you don't feel weird reading this fic, I'll be very surprised.As always, Kudos and comments are LOVE!
Relationships: Abigail Remeltindtdrinc/Original Character(s), Metal Masked Assassin/Abigail Remeltindtdrinc
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. A New Tool for Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Got this idea from Captain Barbossa creepily watching Elizabeth Swann eat in Pirates of the Caribbean. Such an interesting scene. Lots of emotions, motivations and FOOD. I've personally been craving a nice steak for DAYS.
> 
> Enjoy?

The Metal Masked Assassin paced back in forth in his room, a dingy former CEO’s office in the abandoned Florida office building he called a “lair.”

The woman. Her piercing turquoise eyes, her deep, dark tan skin stuck in his mind. He had never seen a woman who looked quite like that in his life. Not in all his days, in all his travels.

Abigail.

Upon seeing her in the funeral raid, he had given special orders to his finest lieutenant, Mac, to fetch her just for him. She captivated him and he knew that slowly but surely, she might be exactly what he wanted to use against Dethklok.

He had never wanted her hurt in the process, and as soon as they were back at their base, his prize female victim bloody and run through, he quickly dispatched Mac with a few choice stabs to his vitals. Mistakes were not tolerated when it came to the Assassin’s orders.

He saw to it that Abigail was cared for and stitched up by a Revengencer who was formerly a nurse. After a few days of recovery, she was placed in Toki’s cell with him.

Soon enough, the Assassin had realized what a defensive instinct she had – almost like a mother tigress. Abigail shouted down Magnus and had even slapped the gaunt, bearded man on occasion when he tried to torture Toki, knowing full well of the damage the ex-guitarist could do with his switchblade. Through it all, she looked hauntingly beautiful, even in the dingy glow of the basement cell’s trio of hanging light bulbs.

And then there was the way she had exchanged insults with him and his minions – just yesterday, when he had called her “Dethklok’s harlot,” she’d spat back that the he was “an albino, steroid-pumped Vlad the Impaler.” There were a few other monikers she’d thrown at him, too. He thought of them as pet names. “Bleached Gorilla” was a favorite. “Cloroxed Quasimodo,” and “Bloated Mole Rat” were others. He was shocked that she still retained such spirit, wit, creativity and courage, locked up as she had been for about a week now. She always stood up for Toki, yet demanded nothing for herself.

The young woman captivated him, more and more with every visit. When he closed his eyes every night, he imagined deep turquoise eyes staring back at him, white teeth clenched in defiance. Her voice echoing in his head.

He had spent long hours in solitude after he had captured her, researching the beautiful 28-year-old music producer that so many bands had dubbed “The Record Cleaner.” Headlines were easy to find all over the internet, detailing her life and Toki’s. Accounts of their abduction and life before the events he and Magnus had ignited lit up his computer screen every time he went online. Her friends and family missed her. Her new boyfriend, Robert Indigo, an Olympic fencer-turned teacher, mourned her disappearance with a tearful interview. She had been brutal where more lax producers had minced their words. She had been critical where lesser producers had been lenient. She was the THE producer, the MIND to have, no matter the cost. Any album produced with her was guaranteed success, a sure ticket to the top. Truly, the woman had a gift.

Dethklok had treated her like a common worker and who knows, perhaps even a common whore, horny bastards that they all were. He bristled at the thought of any of them touching her, though he heavily implied it every time he saw her in the cell.

Nevertheless, he convinced himself that such a fine woman would be his. He just needed to be sure that she knew how valuable she was. He decided to make a move to try and begin to win her favor and her trust with what most people knew as a “dinner date.”


	2. Pulling Out the Stops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Assassin shows how well he delegates tasks.

It had been a week and a half since Abigail and Toki had been captured, and the cellmates had only been allowed their daily dog food for that time. Both were beginning to show slight signs of malnutrition. The Assassin hedged his bets that she would take what he could offer her at that point.

The Assassin summoned some female Revengencers about Abigail’s size and asked their measurements. He sent two to buy an elegant dress, shoes and a few changes of casual clothes and intimates for Abigail and ordered them back within an hour and a half. He sent two more to fetch the young woman herself and see to it that she showered, washed, dried and styled her hair and applied modest makeup for her unexpected evening with the masked man. The puzzled but dutiful women hurried away.

Online, the Assassin ordered a custom feast from Seasons 52, a high end steakhouse in the Tampa area and tasked a pair of his most normal looking minions to pick it up. He told a team of six Revengencers to clean a conference room so it might be used to hold the banquet. They found some towels, and an all-purpose spray and got to work. Soon, after some scrubbing, the table gleamed clean. They dusted off the leather-look chairs and figured out how to dim the lights to a soft glow. More tables were brought in on which to place the food. One of the Revengencers, an ex-waittress, found some chafing dishes, cleaned them and brought them out to use for the meats. She filled the lower portions half full with water and lit ethanol gel in Sterno cans beneath them to warm them.

As they prepped the room, some Revengencers whispered to each other, each hoping there would be leftover food for themselves. Revenge and carnage might be their daily grind, but the prospect of a good meal perked them up and made them work especially hard.


	3. Preparing the Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail can't figure out what on God's Green Earth is happening. And WHY?

When the high-end takeout food arrived two hours later, the Assassin had the Revengencers fill the hot, heated chafing dishes full of the most choice cuts of steak, succulent chicken breasts and tender pork loins – enough to fill a four foot table. Next to that, on a three foot table, they placed a lush, green, varied salad and toppings on a bed of fresh ice they’d bought in a large, stainless steel tub. Desserts elegantly graced a dainty table at the end – exotic fruit dishes, confections and cakes of all types, every one of them an indulgent treat. The conference table was set quickly with paper plates, napkins and black plastic silverware brought in with the food.

Soon, a baffled, somewhat scared, yet elegant Abigail entered, wearing a light chiffon palm-patterned dress. Her usual necklace shone a bright teal-green, catching the Assassin’s eye. She stood tall in cream-laced espadrilles. Her hair was done up in a tasteful chignon with a few tendrils cascading about her face. Eyeliner framed her wide, fairly shocked turquoise eyes. Faint magenta blush and bold raspberry lipstick completed her look. The Assassin nodded at Abigail as she was escorted in.

He himself had taken a quick, cold shower and changed into an unstained pair of dark pants and a plain black V-neck sleeveless shirt. He even had a Revengencer polish his boots for him.

He motioned to the food, offering Abigail her fill. He wanted to see her eat and grow strong once again.

“Eat. Whatever you want.”

Not knowing what else to do, she looked at the luscious-looking food, her stomach growling and mouth watering. Without Toki there for her to defend, she was at a bit of a loss. She turned to stare at the Assassin. Was this a trick? Why was he being so… giving? So cordial?

“Go on. I’ll be joining you.” He motioned at the set table. He read her concerned face. 

Still, she paused.

“Only a fool would poison his hostage. I am no fool, Abigail. We will share this meal together.”

Feeling a bit better, she made her way to the buffet, eagerly grabbing a plate and snatching the tongs from the chafing dish of filet mignon slices. Food was food, no matter the benefactor. Though he had shouted at her and they had traded insults, no one had hurt her except her abductor, and her wounds had been carefully tended. This seemed to be a legit banquet. Just for them.


	4. Salad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feast begins with a ceremonial Berating of the Magnus.

Abigail piled her plate with three slices of steak and a sizable salad – kale, spinach, arugula, mozzarella balls, croutons, carrots, grape tomatoes, Greek black olives. Oil and vinegar dressing in a side cup.

The Assassin made a plate for himself – a giant rib-eye steak, done bloody rare – and joined her. They sat at each end of the expansive conference table, facing each other. Female Revengencers poured glasses of red and white wine for each of them. A bottle of Perrier sat at each place setting, frosted still from the coldest reaches of the one running fridge in the building.

Abigail paused briefly before eating. Was it a sigh? A quick prayer of thanks? Whatever the conclusion, she immediately started her dinner. The salad was gone in a matter of minutes. But then she paused. The Assassin looked up from the wine he was drinking and stared at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve no knife to cut the steak.”

“I’ll fix that. MAGNUS!” he bellowed. 

The gaunt man entered a few seconds later, his face as shocked as Abigail’s when he saw the scene.

“Give your knife to Abigail. She needs to cut her filets.”

Abigail looked up at Magnus stoically. She extended her hand.

Dumbfounded, the ex-guitarist flipped open his switchblade as everyone in the room stared at him. He offered it to Abigail.

“You expect the lady to use a filthy blade? Clean it.”

His hands shaking, Magnus took a spare napkin from the table, soaked it in strong vodka from his flask, wiped it clean and handed the sizable blade over.


	5. Main Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Assassin and his captive enjoy their meals.

Abigail snatched the knife from Magnus, her hunger for filet mignon overtaking her urge to ram the knife into her cruel jailer’s innards. The food was a blessing that shouldn’t be cast aside. The meat filled her with energy; she could feel the pure protein and sumptuous fat flooding her system, renewing her strength. 

She realized something – if she, Magnus, and the Assassin were up here in this room, as well as so many Revengencers, then no one was torturing Toki. And SHE had Magnus’ knife! A strange wave of peace and accomplishment washed over her. The food tasted even better, knowing that she was helping her friend. She tasted the celery salt, the crushed garlic, the butter, salt and pepper that coated the medium-done cut of beef. She forced herself to pace her bites, not wanting to get sick from overindulgence.

The Assassin ordered Magnus to stand in a corner and watch the feast with a scowl and a wave of his hand. He pulled his twin knives and cut into the mammoth rib-eye steak that he’d heaped on his plate.

His eyes fixed on Abigail as she sliced and devoured her steak, the large, antler handled knife looking beautifully barbaric in her elegant hand. God, he was enjoying seeing this bright young woman eat. He enjoyed the fact that HE was able to provide for her, to fill her belly, to save her from malnutrition. He loved watching her cut into that meat so resolutely. Her strong jaw chewed and worked the flesh; he watched it go down her long, elegant throat. With his own sharp knives, he pared his bloody rare steak down to bite-sided morsels, his eyes still on the hungry young woman, struck by her beauty and how savagely she ate.

He longed for her to be his; to show another sort of passion in his arms. This was his first foray into seducing her; not with words or with emotions – he’d never excelled in those paths; but with a simple need – food. Watching her eat with such vigor filled him with as much feeling and lust as it did herself with sustenance. So overcome was she with need that she forgot all propriety, relationships and other niceties of emotion.

Animal instinct. Chip away at the emotions and humanity enough, and that was all that the human creature was left with. And the Assassin thrived in that state. Soon, week by week, month by month, and he would chisel her down to only wanting him and the fulfilment he provided. Food. 

She finished her steak and looked at the remaining food on display still.

“Go ahead. Have your fill,” he boomed, red juices running down the sides of his pale lips. He signalled for more red wine and swiftly, his glass was refilled.

Abigail got a chicken breast and dainty pork portion, a bowl of fruit and a piece of red velvet cake for dessert. She settled back in.

“It’s good,” she said simply.

“Yes.”

He continued on with his steak until he was done, then got some pork. 

And a piece of carrot cake. It had always been his favorite dessert.

They both drank their wines and sipped their water. Emboldened, Abigail signalled for more white wine and Perrier. No sooner than she had asked, and it appeared on the serving tray of a female Revengencer.

They ate.

They drank.

Magnus coughed raggedly in his corner and was met with a deathly serious glare from his boss.


	6. Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dessert course brings savoury sweets and memories of the past.

The room was blissfully quiet. 

She had to ask. “Why all this?” She motioned to her outfit, to the food.

He slowly and thoughtfully cut a piece of pork.

“You weren’t supposed to get stabbed.”

“Oh.”

She pared her chicken into pieces. She worked on her fruit bowl. 

Silence hung in the air as they ate and drank. 

Still, he watched her. She wasn’t eating as quickly anymore. 

He wanted to say something meaningful, but not emotional. He could state a fact. He noticed the piece of jewelry around her neck – she had been wearing it since the funeral. It was simple and elegant. The stone in the center looked like the ocean on a calm day. 

“Your necklace,” he said. “It complements your eyes.”

“Thank you. It’s aquamarine. My grandmother gave it to me.”

The Assassin nodded. He would make sure none of the Revengencers took it from her. Like her, it was bright and beautiful.

They started on their desserts. The masked man drew his attention away from the woman for a short while to focus on his precious carrot cake. He wanted to savor it. It tasted so good – rich, sweet, flavorful and decadent. The thick cream cheese frosting melted in his mouth and the cake itself was moist and fresh. He could tell it must have been baked scant hours before. It had been forever since he’d had a slice. As a boy in elementary school, his uncle, a butcher, would occasionally treat him and his brother to meals at a diner where they served mouth-watering carrot cake. They would talk about their days, who and what they had seen, what they had done in school, at work. His uncle was the only adult that had paid any worthwhile attention to him and his brother growing up. Some days after school, they would help out in the butcher shop, learning about different cuts of meat and how to process them from the different animals brought in. His uncle’s butcher shop supplied the meat for the diner, so their food was always discounted.

Lost in memories of his brother and his uncle, the Assassin took his time enjoying the delicious dessert, still using his knives to eat it, even going so far as to scrape up the last bits of frosting and crumbs off the plate. He didn’t want to waste even a speck.

Abigail finished her red velvet cake, also trying to scoop up every last bit of it from her petite plastic plate. This sort of cake was always delicious, in an indescribable way – nothing tasted like red velvet cake but… red velvet cake! It was like Dr. Pepper – nothing else tasted like that, either. Each was unique, distinct and special in its own way. She almost laughed aloud – now she was craving a Dr. Pepper. She looked up at the severe-looking founder of the feast, now appearing to be hard at work dissecting – and, like her, savoring each last morsel of dessert. He appeared a bit lost in thought, too.

Abigail glanced at the massive amount of food still left over. She wished she could take some back for herself and for Toki, but she didn’t think that would be in the cards. She laid her plastic fork down on the table and blotted her mouth clean. Red velvet cake was always such a mess, but the rich, decadent taste was well worth it. She was so full. She drank the rest of her water and sipped at the remains of her wine.

He looked up as she set the glassware back on the table. 

“I am glad you joined me here,” he said.

“I didn’t have a choice.” She paused. “But it was an unusual change. I enjoyed the food.”

He nodded. His unreadable face had returned. He signaled with his hand. They stayed at their seats as the Revengencers cleared the table.

Once that was done, he abruptly rose. “The guards will see you back. Change into what you were wearing before. You will join me next week for another dinner.”

It was an order, not a request.

Abigail stood up and nodded. Her… fortunate hour?... was at an end. What else was there to do? She still didn’t know how to feel, awash in wave after wave of different emotions.

“Be sure you keep that necklace on. It’s very bright and beautiful,” he said softly as she was marched out.

“Yes,” she said meekly. “Goodbye.”

Her stomach was full, but her mind felt lost and disoriented and still scared and confused. What did this guy want with her? Was this an apology dinner? Did he mean to seduce her with food? It didn’t look like she would be returning to her family and friends and work anytime soon.

God, she missed her new boyfriend, Robert. They were supposed to be on their first vacation together right now – hiking and camping in Yellowstone and a luxury spa in the Grand Tetons. She bet the steak out west was just as good – probably better – than the one she’d just had.

The female Revengencers walked her away to the room where they had gotten her ready. They stripped her of her new outfit, and saw that she changed back into her ragged captive apparel. Abigail undid her updo on the way back to her cell.

What the hell was she going to tell Toki?

And how had life gotten so violent and weird so fast?


	7. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two part ways and the Assassin thinks about his next move.

Back in the now near-empty conference/dining room, the Assassin picked up Magnus’ knife that Abigail had left behind. He caressed the antler handle, knowing that she was the last one who had touched it. He admired the sharp blade, its reflective surface smudged with lingering meat juices and grease. He polished it with the edge of his shirt and its gleam returned. Such a fine knife. He glanced at the knife’s owner, still standing in the corner. Deftly, he folded it up. He slipped it into his pocket. Abigail could use it for their next meal.

Magnus was about to protest, but he quickly shut up as the Assassin glared at him again, then almost smirked in self-satisfaction. He knew what sort of power he held over every single person in the building.

The masked man’s thoughts were interrupted as a pair of Revengencers came in. He read their minds as they all looked at the food. “Take it. Do what you want with it. I want it all out of here and this room spotless by tomorrow morning.”

They looked at each other, not believing their good fortune, and scurried off to get their comrades.

The Assassin stalked off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

He had one week to go until she would be brought before him again. He was thinking something less formal.

Olive Garden.


End file.
